What a Pain!
by Inuvik
Summary: By all saints, these are so boring times... Monastario left, the Eagle is defeated, not a single bandido on the horizon... Wherein nights are too quiet for the fox! WDZ.


_AN: Enjoy :D_

* * *

_What a pain!_

_By_

_Inuvik_

* * *

"Diego? Diego?"

Someone was calling for him.

It was a soft voice. Feminine. Confused, he opened his eyes, and was stunned to see that it was broad daylight.

"Can you stand up?" the sweet voice whispered. There was an emergency in the tone. Why?

Diego blinked a couple of times, until a face slowly came into focus.

"El..."

Diego gasped and his face went ashen.

He had just noticed that he was dressed as the fox. And yet, Elena had called him by his name... his hand raised to his face. His mask was still there. Could she have...?

"Wh-"

He wanted to ask what happened, but his throat ached. He was thirsty. So thirsty... for how long was he lying under the hot sun? A moan escaped his lips. His back hurt. He did not feel blood seeping so he did not think a bullet was responsible. It was more like something sharp and hard had hit him violently.

"Where are you hurt?" Elena asked with worry as she delicately cupped his head into her porcelain-like hand for support.

Diego did not answer. He was captivated by the freshness of her pale skin, soothed by the tenderness of her sweet voice. All pain vanished as he stared at her in an appeasing silence.

"Here," she whispered as she gave him a goatskin, and helped him drink.

"Gracias. But what-"

She prompted a finger on his lips.

"Shhh... the soldiers are still nearby."

Fear seized the fox. If she was caught with him, he could not fathom the consequences for her and her family. He had to put as much distance as possible between him and her.

_Thud!_

Alerted by the sound of hooves, he sat up and dragged Elena behind a large rock half covered by the long branches of a pussy willow. Then, from behind the leaves, he saw Sergeant Garcia emerging on the narrow path, blocking their escape way.

"I am certain that he is here, be careful!" the imposing soldier cried to his men before dismounting and moving ahead with caution, his saber pointed straight in front of him.

The fox looked all around him in panic. Garcia was less than thirty feet away and closing. Now, it so happened that behind him and Elena, stretched the entrance of one small canyon that did not run very far before opening on a vast plain. A vast plain and an Indian cemetery. A sacred place that, from outmost respect, he had never trespassed on.

Zorro smirked. An idea had just formed in his mind. One implicating a fox, a narrow gorge, and above all, an easily spooked sergeant.

"Stay here," he whispered to the young señorita.

He felt her hand grasping his arm in an attempt to keep him from moving out of their small hiding place, but he winked, and freed himself gently. Then, after placing a long branch above Don Nacho's daughter, he crawled away like a snake for twenty feet before standing up. A vivid energy was running down his muscles and his nerves as he cast a quick look around him. Fast, he chose a wall that offered multiple grips and began climbing.

_Perfecto,_ he told himself as he stopped about thirty foot up, next to a series of cavities carved by the wind and rain. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Garcia was nearing the entrance of the gorge. Elena was still hidden, barely two feet on the soldier's right. He had to act fast.

The fox took a deep breath, and let out a most chilling howl. The grave sound of his voice, filtering through each hole, had quite the wanted effect.

Garcia ran – stumbled – down the path in a hurry under the fox's amused glance.

All blood suddenly drained out of Zorro's face. Amplified by the special geology of the gorge, the echo spread, and climbed, and bounced, and dived, and soon, the fox felt like a thousand cries had been uttered from multiple places instead of a single one from an alone position.

_Clunk._

The scuffling sound stuck his breath in his throat. For a terrible moment, the fox stared at the rocks around him, afraid to see them crumbling down on him.

"Uh oh..." he muttered, eyes widening out of dread.

A rain of dirt and stones plummeted over his head and his fingers let go of their grip. The next instant, waves of shattering pain radiated in his back when he hit the ground.

Heart hammering in his chest, the fox's eyes sprung opened at once.

"Ah! Diego!"

The young don straightened and cast a disoriented look around himself. He was in the sala?! Wow! Now that was a hell of a weird dream. He had been so certain that it had been real, he could still feel the pain, the fall... the terrible impact.

Deeply relieved, he massaged his eyes and noticed there was something wedged between his back and the armchair seat.

"Sorry," he said, repressing a yawn while he retrieved a book with a small lock made of iron. It was the small key inside the lock that must have dug so painfully in his side and penetrated in his dream. "I must be more tired than I thought to be," he said to himself.

"Oh! You've found my diary!" Elena exclaimed.

"Tired of playing guitar and reading books..." Don Alejandro muttered, "Had my hair to grow white only to hear such non sense!"

Frowning, Diego stood up to hand Elena her possession.

"Gracias."

"De nada, Elena," he replied with a faint smile. No wonder she had been part of his dream. She was beautiful tonight.

"Why don't you both go and get some fresh air?" Don Nacho suggested with a knowing look in his eyes.

"Indeed, it would do you some good, mi hijo, and I think it's safe to presume that you will behave like a true caballero," Don Alejandro said.

"Of course. You have my word Dona Luisa, Don Nacho," Diego said as Elena stood up obediently without raising her dark brown eyes from her empty plate.

To prove his good manners, Diego grabbed Elena's delicate scarf made of black cashmere and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then, he offered her his arm, and led her out of the sala, into the front patio.

As she stayed silent, following him toward the gate without the slightest hesitation, either out of trust or fatality, he decided to break the ice with an amused glance.

"Do you think they will give up on marrying us one day?" he whispered with a small laugh in his voice.

"Is it what you wish, Diego?"

The young don tilted his head and shrugged, uncertain about his feelings because he had never quite given them some thought. Well, in the pueblo he thought it was common knowledge that the Torreses had a beautiful daughter to wed, and the de la Vegas a handsome son. In many people's mind, at a time of arranged marriages, it seemed obvious enough that they were promised to one another.

"It is what Benito wishes, at least I think," he finally said, letting a certain bitterness filter in his voice. For what, he did not know. Elena and he had promised each other when they were children that they would pursue their true love no matter what, and above all, against their respective parents' plan. Love was not commanded, arranged or forced. Love existed or not. It was as simple as that.

"My father made it clear that he did not want to hear anything about Benito..."

"Ah... Fathers... I fear they're all made of the same wood or iron in some cases. And your mother?"

"Mother? Well... I think she's pained for me, but she told me that one day I would overcome my sorrow as she did, and see in Benito nothing more than a youthful passion. Duty to my name will be much rewarding in the long term according to her."

"And you, what do you think?"

"I think I'll... it's no use dwelling on the past, Diego. Benito and I knew very well that we did not have a future."

Diego nodded. He was sad for Elena, and sad for Benito too. Maybe if his head vaquero had been of true Spanish blood, but even then, unions between señoritas of upstanding lineage and simple men were unlikely to happen. So with a half-blood... As painful and unfair as it was, Benito stood no chance. They would have to cherish what they had shared deep within them, and move on with their lives.

"I'm sorry, Elena. I wished you did not have to go through such pain."

"Thank you, Diego. Your words touch me. But do you have any idea what it feels like, having your heart..."

Her words trailed, and in the soft moonlight, he saw tears shining in her eyes.

"Being ripped apart because of an impossible love?" he finished for her.

She nodded, and tightened her grasp on his arm. As he detected a sob, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder in comfort. Her head lolled on his as she said in a faint breath: "Sí."

Diego barely heard it, but knew it was so much more than a simple "sí". It was a deep need. A need to know that she was not alone; a need to talk, to open her heart, to free herself from her burden; a need to know that someone understood her plainly. A confidant. A brother. He could be that for her. And a part of him thought that he just needed one more word from her to give her more.

"If I tell you, this will stay between us?"

"Sure, you have my word as a Torres, Diego."

"Good enough for me," he smiled slightly before confiding in her, "She was a dancer of flamenco. The moment I set my eyes on her, I forgot where and who I was. Pardon me, Elena, but I had never felt so whole than when I was with her, and so lost the moment she walked away..."

"Then you understand me, Diego," she said, "Diego?"

_Clunk_.

The young don had stopped walking. Somehow, something felt wrong, so very wrong. Out of place. _The river!_ Why were they walking by the river? And that scuffling noise. Dammit! He could not believe it. He was still dreaming. And that disappointed him deeply. Even truly pained him. For once he had a genuine conversation with a close friend, all of it was in his head?!

Irritated, Diego let out a deep breath and massaged his eyes. By all saints, was he going to wake up for real?! Wake up! Now! He berated himself, on the edge of slapping himself.

Pain. A blinding, paralyzing pain. His back hurt so much...

Gasping, the fox opened his eyes and stared at the darkness surrounding him.

"Finally you are awake!" a voice sounded. An old, familiar voice. "You had me worried for a while here, mi hijo."

Zorro bit his lips as he felt his eyes grow wide out of sheer surprise. His father was here!

"Do you think you can stand up and ride on your own?"

A groan escaped the fox's lips as he looked around him. He was at the bottom of a ten-foot high cliff, in a narrow depression between two hills.

"Elena?..."

"She came to warn me. I sent her back. Garcia's men are insistent tonight."

"What happened?"

"You happened, mi hijo."

The old don sighed heavily.

"I've warned you once that your taste for playing tricks was going to backfire at you, haven't I?"

"Hmm... more than once actually..." The fox paused, "Oh!" he exclaimed. Now he remembered. He had taken the occasion of a dinner in the pueblo with the Torreses to make a subtle escapade and write in big letters with tar on the cuartel's outside walls the last count of the mouse and cat play he enjoyed with Garcia and his men.

Zorro 18 – Lancers 0

A smirk appeared on his lips. The soldiers had barely managed to clean the walls in the afternoon when he had done it again, for when he had seen that Reyes was mounting guard, he had not been able to resist the temptation. Life was so boring at the pueblo nowadays. Nothing happened anymore. Since the Eagle's defeat, Garcia was once more the acting-commandante and life went on, as quiet as a river in the heat of the summer. Now that must be why he felt so thirsty.

Zorro chuckled. Sometimes his mind was working strangely.

"Oh! I would not laugh if I were you, mi hijo. All the lancers are out, hunting you down to wash their honor. You've insulted them by all saints."

"Oh so little, Father. Besides, they need the exercise. And having them search the hills once in a while is a good way to keep bandidos away from Los Angeles too. After all, I'm-"

"Only one man, I know that better than you obviously. And I have nothing against the army showing some muscle on occasion. But not if it means to risk seeing my son's body dangling on the gallows for a puerile prank. Now that we've wasted enough time talking, stand up and mount, mi hijo."

Slightly amused by the old don's authoritarian tone, the fox straightened up with a wince and, accepting a helping hand, made it to his feet, and then on Tornado's back.

"Father, you should stop calling me that way while I'm in Zorro's clothes."

"Then why do you keep on calling me Father?"

The fox paused and stared at his father, a little off. That was a valid point indeed.

"Señor de la Vega, after you," he said, bowing his head and waving his hand to invite his father to ride ahead.

They followed the furrow until the hills' sides softened and a large, rocky prairie appeared.

It was a clear night, with not a single cloud in the heavens to hide the stars. A soft breeze, barely perceptible stroked the golden grass, shimmering under the moonlight. By all means, the landscape invited to serenity.

Though serene, the fox was not.

For in the distance, he could see the dust rising in the air. Riders were closing on their position fast.

"Uh oh. Not good," he muttered.

"Not good at all," his father replied.

They exchanged a brief glance and turned on their heels to hide back into the depression between the hills.

But as they reached the location where he had fallen, Tornado refused to move further.

"What is it, mi amigo? There's no reason to be afraid."

_Clunk._

Eyes bulging, Zorro turned fast around upon hearing the scuffling sound. All blood left his face as he stared _through_ a wrinkled Indian riding a piebald horse bareback. A ghostly figure that blocked the path, forbidding him to move further toward the sacred place.

All of a sudden, a strong grip closed on the fox's throat.

"I got you this time! The reward is mine!"

Out of reflex, Zorro struggled to break free but to no avail, Sergeant Garcia's strength was no legend. But that did not kept him from trying to escape, until he received a punch and pain exploded in his back, and-

"WOW!"

Gasping, Diego leaped in a sitting position, his heart furiously pumping blood in strong starts and fits in his chest. Breathless and covered in sweat, he looked all around him in confusion when the door of his bedroom opened abruptly and Bernardo rushed in.

Swallowing hard, the young don stood up fast despite the pain in his back. He barely noticed the book that fell on the ground.

"Pinch me, Bernardo! Pinch me!" he said as he stumbled toward his friend, feeling on the edge of panicking.

The mute shook his head and opened his palms in front of him, a gesture that was joined by the worry in his eyes, asking if he was all right.

"No, I'm not, Bernardo," Diego replied, his face as ashen as if he had seen a ghost, "Do as I say and pinch me."

The mute frowned and waved his hand before turning away.

Diego blocked his path. He needed to know if he was awake. He would have it no other way.

Bernardo let out a deep but silent sigh and did as he was asked. With force.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Diego asked, surprised by the pain.

Then he turned away with a laugh triggered as much by relief than by his friend's distraught face. "I had one hell of a strange dream, Bernardo," he said as he stretched his limbs and massaged the sore spot on his back. Ah, finally, the culprit was his book, he realized when he saw the five hundred page volume of Flaubert on the hard floor ground. This tome was more than boring finally; _Madame Bovary_ was a real pain. And anyway, she was not like him at all. He was not bored by the pueblo's quiet atmosphere. He was right where he wanted to be, and Zorro was not a means to escape the banalities of his provincial life. Not at all.

A shudder shook the young don's shoulders.

"Imagine, Bernardo, I distinctively had the feeling of waking up, only to realize that I was still dreaming, and it went on and on that for a moment, I felt trapped! That's beyond weird I tell you..."

Bernardo pointed to himself before he closed his eyes, stretched his arms, and started walking.

"You're a sleepwalker?"

His friend nodded and stretched a hand at hips level.

"When you were a child. Talk about weird!" Diego chuckled as he moved toward his washstand.

Eager to wash away all floating remains of his dream, the young don splashed fresh water on his face and neck several times. Santa Mariá, that felt so good!

Then, once cleaned up, shaved, and dressed, he gave his loyal friend's shoulder an energetic tap and walked out of his bedroom, saying:

"Come, Bernardo, let's go to the pueblo. I'm hungry."

* * *

Later that night, the fox sneaked out of the shadows cast by a pile of wood boxes on the tavern's side. As silent as a cat, he crept across the lifeless plaza. A mix of disappointment and thrill seized him when he noticed that Reyes was sleeping on his feet, like the other lancer standing guard with him. Without any worry, he then dived his large brush in the bucket of tar hung to the saddle on Tornado's back, and wrote:

Zorro 1 – Lancers 0

THE END

_AN: yes, I know again, Madame Bovary was written in 1856, and so Diego could not have read it. Sorry, I had a score to settle..._


End file.
